Smartassery for the serious. Assistance for the terrifed. Information for the curious. A memoir for what's left of my sanity.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Absence.

Josie Crumin sought my attention, I gave it to her. Joshua was not pleased by the extent I have been pushing her. She has learned to stifle her sobs, now she just bites her lip and glares at me, tears brimming in her eyes when I'm too hard on her. She asked for this. He screams at me, for what? Being too cruel, is there such a thing? No. She knew what she was getting into and yet she asked. She demanded. She pleaded. This was her own choosing. Weak and frail little Josie Crumin. I taught you to be stronger, didn't I? A few little things, shook up your brain and out fell some backbone. Congrats! You're still a fucking coward, older than me but yet a little girl. It's amusing.

My favorite has to be sparring in the night. Frustrating her with jeers and truths now and then, her tears glistening in the moonlight. Joshua seethes when she follows me back inside. Our fights consist of a handful of words before we walk away now, there isn't any effort to argue anymore because there isn't anything left to say. He can't leave, for fear of the Advocate and his threats. Because of Alan and Claire, heh. His presence is a poison to all now, like mine. And now he hates me even more, if only because he hates himself. Don't worry, Joshua, you'll learn what to do with that hatred soon enough. Make it something productive.

He tries to talk Josie from her training, he kneels in front of her and patches her up. Tells her she doesn't have to do this while I stand idly across from them, watching half the time. She says she's tired but that it shows that she is really trying, that she won't return to posting on her blog until she becomes stronger. She's tired of being pathetic. The moment he finishes I move towards the door, she pulls herself up and follows, limping or otherwise. A blue haired pup of my own now, sorry Joshua, you have to share for a bit. Maybe we can make a schedule between me training her and you fucking her brains out, hm? HA!Shame that won't be happening anymore, eh? Guess you'll be doubly cranky now.

I'm patronizing again, but it's so fun sometimes.

Onto more important things...

I'm locked up in an empty room because I requested it, after waking up from a short coma. It's one of the rooms designed for prisoners. Brood has suggested I continue writing, for it may help. The post that will be following after this on will explain things. For now I am putting in what little focus I have into this. It will not last because my focus has been severely cut. There is just instinct, a very specific instinct. It did something awful, it threw off the balance. I'm locked up in here because I demanded to be. I am here because I saved her life, and what did she do? THE BITCH FLED! As I murdered our medic subconsciously, a handful of soldiers dead by hands, MY PEOPLE, DEAD. More was done by that creature's, and as Joshua bled she ran out the fucking back door while her enemy was curled around my core, pulling my strings and using my body as a puppet. It seems the only thing I taught her was how to run faster, to hide better.

So this is the itch Gallows spoke about, eh? This imprint his enemy as well left in me. The balance is off. I don't want to kill my comrades but the control is now gone. The only reason this sanctuary hasn't thrown me out for is due to it not being my own will. It seems my state of mind is the only thing allowing me here, which is funny because we all see how shitty that's becoming because of Lenore. Because I allow it. I doubt it will last, me being here. I might have to become a prisoner in my own home soon. Everything feels numb, like I'm very distant from my own body. It feels wrong.

Oh Josie, you made the gravest of mistakes. Remember what I said when I had you by the neck against that tree? I saw the look on Joshua's face when I woke up in our medical room. I've never seen so much shame in a person. In himself, directed at me, directed at you. His thoughts were written plainly across my brother's face. Run, run, run, Mister Creevey is on your heels and you better hope he tears you apart before I find you.

I'm out of time, it seems. Back to trying to fix this mess and fighting the beast that wears my face.